


it’s autumn when you can hear it under your feet (or in your heart)

by unkinsei



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 20:45:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3992263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkinsei/pseuds/unkinsei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ohno finds it hard to walk straight. The path isn’t particularly curved but as he walks he can’t help but keep bumping, elbow against hip, into Aiba.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it’s autumn when you can hear it under your feet (or in your heart)

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this waaay back in May 2013 (lol) - when Aiba Manabu only just started and they did mostly studio recordings for variety. So the (vague) details are a little off.

The autumn air is crisp, each intake of breath a cutting chill through the stuffy warmth of cardigan and scarf, jacket and face mask. As the two men walk through the pathway lined with piles of leaves, every step they take is accompanied by a dry crunch.  Aiba allows himself to indulge in the rhythm of sound underfoot, enjoying the way a slow step drags the crunch out into a cruuuunch, or if he takes a short leap into a particularly large pile of leaves it’s more of a CRUNCH.

Ohno finds it hard to walk straight. The path isn’t particularly curved but as he walks he can’t help but keep bumping, elbow against hip, into Aiba. It doesn’t help that Aiba isn’t walking straight either, looking down at his feet with a small smile on his face. As they continue along Ohno finds himself expecting each little bump into Aiba’s side, a tiny thump that reverberates all the way to the tips of his fingers on the opposite side. Thump. Thump. Thump.

They come to a bench that isn’t taken by women with large prams or salary men taking a solitary break. Aiba clears it of leaves with a sweep of his hand and pats the seat, motioning for Ohno to take it. Obediently sitting down where directed, Ohno leans back with his hands in his pockets and a content sigh escaping his mouth. Things are simple for Ohno; walk where someone guides you, sit where someone shows you to sit. Take someone’s hand when they offer it. It’s worked for him most of his life.

Taking in Ohno in front of him, shrinking into his jacket, only just revealing an expression resembling a satisfied cat, Aiba cannot help but smile.

Outside, with Leader, is nice, he thinks.

\---

They didn’t go outdoors as a group as often as before. It was a bit too complicated. Aiba himself got out regularly enough though. On his last shoot on location, Aiba had come to the park to film a segment with a cheerful yet strict dog trainer who made her dogs jump hoops and balance balls on their noses. As the cameras stopped momentarily and the staff looked over the script for the next cut, he was given the chance to take a breather and look around. The leaves were only just beginning to colour; a hint of yellow and orange amongst the green. There was a certain bite to the air that made Aiba shiver with anticipatory delight.

As he crouched down on the edge of the footpath, scanning for four-leaf clovers, Ohno had swam up to the top of Aiba’s mind, much paler underneath his foundation than he could recall him ever being in recent times and unable to boast about his latest catch. He couldn’t take him out fishing, but maybe just being outside, together, could do instead.

Then the director called for everyone to gather round, and the thought was filed away.

He didn’t return to the thought until he had dropped his keys on the kitchen table, eaten a chunk of the pasta he had made to last all week and settled down cross-legged on his bed, a towel around his shoulders catching water droplets from his hair. In one hand was a beer, the other his phone.

Aiba texted Ohno, ‘have you seen autumn yet’

Then he turned on the television and waited contentedly.

A reply came two hours later with, ‘using my imagination,’ and an attached photo of a palette covered in warm hues layered over and blending into each other.

He smiled at the hand holding the palette up that was just barely sneaking into the shot, then asked, ‘do u wanna see the real thing??', finishing with a carefully selected emoji of two bunnies rubbing their cheeks together.

\---

A quick scan around confirms that no one is looking, and Aiba snatches Ohno’s cap off his head.   

‘My hat,’ Ohno protests. ‘People will see.’

Aiba simply swoops down and pecks him on the cheek, an action so quick Ohno isn't so sure it actually happened when his mind catches up. The only proof is the bashful smile on Aiba's face.

‘Use that instead.’ If it was anyone else they would have asked what he meant, but Ohno nods, assured.

Watched by Ohno, quiet and still, Aiba wanders over to a particularly large pile of leaves, crouches down and starts gathering them up, scooping them into Ohno’s cap as delicately as he can so as not to crinkle them. When the cap is filled to the brim Aiba reverently carries it back over and begins arranging the leaves on Ohno’s head.

\---

When Ohno painted, he went large. He didn’t even bother trying to go out to find the canvas; he wouldn’t have been able to bring it home by himself anyway. When the delivery man rang the doorbell it had been enough of a struggle just to get it through the doorway.

As it sat, propped up against the blank wall that he left empty for this very purpose, it stood a head or two taller than him.

Its size and whiteness consumed him. There was just so much space, so much potential. But Ohno didn’t like to work without a plan. He used to, but as he began to work on bigger and bigger scales, painting on a whim usually did not pan out well.

Ohno sat in front of the canvas, sketchpad in his lap and pencil tapping a rhythm out on its surface.

People were easy. Well, not easy, but he felt comfortable, assured when he was drawing limbs and mouths and eyes. There was a steadfast logic behind every joint and ligament, and it helped that he learned to understand them in his own body as he learned to dance.

So he was not particularly shaken when one day he found himself thinking about Aiba’s body. There was something about Aiba’s thin, not entirely graceful body that grabbed Ohno’s attention and kept it long after they’d parted ways into their separate vans home. The difference between Ohno staring at Jun’s body and Aiba’s was that while it was amusing to see Jun blush all the way down to his neck after realising his development of muscles was being proudly observed like a lush, fast-growing garden, he was struck with the desire to touch and explore exactly how Aiba’s body worked and felt. Reacted.

His mother always said he was a tactile learner.

After a month of thinking about it on and off, Ohno concluded that he liked the way Aiba moved, talked, laughed, their ways of thinking were similar and it would be silly not to fall for him. Lots of people did.

That caused another month of Ohno being surly to all the stylists and assistants who he knew doted on Aiba. As surly as he could be without being rude. It was the thought that counted.

He soon realised that his bout of half-hearted grumpiness probably wasn’t going to amount to anything concrete. Though it was nice having Aiba stroke his head and ask if he was sleepy whenever he was really determined to sulk.

A gift. Aiba liked surprises.

It was, Ohno supposed, almost autumn.

Sketching was the easy part. The pencil hit the paper fast and furiously, then he went back through the scribbles and found a particular combination of lines which he thought he could work with and refine. The scribble he chose was hastily annotated with 'red/orange/yellow/green'.

The pocket of his jacket, which had been tossed onto the sofa yesterday without any further attention since, vibrated quietly with Aiba’s text message. Ohno couldn’t have been less aware of it even if he had been fast asleep with his earphones left in.

Ohno stretched and cracked his neck. He was finally satisfied with the rough draft and was mixing together some colours on his palette. As he arched his back and looked up to the ceiling he finally noticed the light flashing steadily through the fabric of his jacket, fading in and out like a heartbeat. He crawled over and lunged to pull the jacket to the ground.

He read the text, smiled fondly, then replied back with a photo.

Ohno hesitated momentarily when he got Aiba's reply. Despite talking about getting days off on-air with unusual frequency for an idol, he didn't actually get a lot of time to really relax and indulge in his hobbies. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone fishing, and he had mentally booked it in for his next break. Ohno took another look at the text message.

His mind longed for the ocean but there was something else tugging at him. Possibly the biggest catch of his life. The rabbits rubbing their cheeks together were telling him so.

Ohno replied back with a peace sign emoji and ‘ok, when? not free for three weeks.’

\---

The audience was torn between gasps of shock and peals of laughter when Aiba held up the broken piece of the Bound Hockey set with an apologetic smile.

Nino and Jun became overdramatic and gasped indignant accusations with pointed fingers; Sho gave one last reprimanding comment that gave the cameras the perfect moment to stop rolling. A couple of set crew guys jogged over to inspect the damage.

Aiba sighed, but perked up when Ohno sidled up to his side. Looking down, he admired the whorl of Ohno’s carefully arranged hair. It was cute.

“Lip balm?” Aiba offered as he dug around in his pockets, which Ohno accepted with a mumble about perfect timing. Aiba watched him apply it to his pouted mouth fondly.

“I painted a picture for you,” Ohno said as the crew distracted everyone with loud clanging of mallets, and makeup artists took the chance to powder the guests’ noses.

Aiba’s response was delayed by a stylist rearranging the way his fringe falls minutely. When she was finally finished, he replied, “Wow, really Leader? I’d love to see it.”

He surprised himself by how much he really meant it; effortless words of praise and promises of future dinners and drinks were far too easy for him for his liking lately. Maybe it helped that he knew how many hours Ohno spent drawing and painting, what his scrunched up face of concentration looked like, and how comfortable he was with the quietness that came with the intense focus Ohno was able to hold for so long.

Ohno crinkled his brow. “It’s a little too big to carry, it’d be easier if you came over.”

Aiba’s mind almost stalled from trying to process the concept of Ohno inviting someone into his home. Ohno smiled.

\---

“Leader, let’s make hot pot! I bought heaps of stuff,” Aiba said. With his shoes kicked off, he waved the plastic bags bulging with vegetables and meat with a victorious grin.

“Looks yum, Aiba-chan. I’ve got some beer that’ll go well with it.” Ohno shuffled away, and looked over his shoulder. “Wanna see the painting first?”

It felt like he was cast under a spell. Words so simple shouldn’t sound like honey, Aiba thought wondrously, before dropping his bags at the entrance and following Ohno into the living room.

The paint wasn't even dry yet. Its base swathed in old rags and newspapers, the plain white of Ohno's living room wall created a stark contrast against the rich hues of autumn on the canvas. The style was delicate, precise, and Aiba could feel Ohno radiating from every brush stroke.

As Aiba stood back and took in the vibrancy and warmth of the forest floor covered in leaves and the pale blue sky peeking out from between the naked branches he noticed a detail in the corner. Two small rabbits greeted each other with a nuzzling of noses.

Looking down, Aiba noticed Ohno’s hand offered out to him. Naturally, as always, their fingers intertwined with ease.

“It’s beautiful, Leader,” he said happily.

Aiba’s stomach agreed by grumbling with gusto.

Ohno laughed. “Let’s eat, Aiba-chan.”

\---

Satisfied with his work, Aiba steps back to take in the view. Nodding approvingly, he spins around, kicking leaves up into the air. Ohno chuckles like a doting parent. He shakes his head to dislodge the autumn halo that Aiba has carefully balanced on top of his hair. As the leaves fall past his eyes and showers down around him slowly, landing in the hood of his jacket and scattering around him, Aiba laughs.

Ohno can still feel the echoes of Aiba bumping into him, a steady, quiet and kind reverberation. Thump. Thump. Thump.

 


End file.
